


Surprises

by dango96



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, First Time, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Strap-Ons, Trans Hubert von Vestra, Trans Male Character, Trust, Vaginal Sex, gender euphoria, strapless strap-on
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-29 06:16:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21405538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dango96/pseuds/dango96
Summary: Hubert hesitates to confess one of his deepest secrets to his lover, but ultimately finds her more than accommodating.Or, "Hubert is trans, Byleth doesn't care, they have great sex".
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 14
Kudos: 187





	Surprises

**Author's Note:**

> There is some less-neutral language used here (such as 'clit') but I tried to largely keep it as gender neutral as I could. Hubert also has a few hangups about his body, but it's mostly a positive, fulfilling experience.
> 
> Enjoy, and please let me know what you think!

Hubert wasn’t sure when, exactly, his feelings for the professor had evolved into something far beyond platonic. And yet, there they were, undeniable in their intensity, mystifying in the way they drove him to _want_ with a passion he hadn’t thought possible.

He had been beyond fortunate to find those feelings returned. Especially in the middle of a war.

He’d felt tremendous guilt, at first — to steal those kisses in the hallways between strategy meetings, to conceal something so profound from Her Majesty. It was a purely selfish desire, to seek out his own happiness, to dare prioritize it above matters of the Empire.

And then Her Majesty had discovered them, the result of one hastily–stolen kiss too many in the war room when the Emperor had accidentally left behind some papers she’d needed for a diplomatic meeting. And to Hubert’s shock, she had immediately _approved_ of their union; she had actually seemed _enthused_ to see her closest confidants finding comfort in each other.

But the guilt continued to nag at him. Not for Lady Edelgard, he finally figured out, but for Byleth. Quite simply, he hadn’t told her the entire truth of his past, and surely, she had certain _expectations_ of him. And he would fail to meet them, not out of any choice he’d made, but as an unfortunate consequence of his own biology.

It wasn’t a problem he’d had to deal with before, and so he had no experience on how to handle it. He’d never taken a lover before her; certainly never laid with one. And matters such as ‘honesty’ and ‘displaying vulnerability’ were far from his strong suit.

Would she still desire his touch after she found out? Would she express anger, or feel deceived? Would she be disappointed? Would it cause strain on Her Majesty if her right–hand man and woman were glaring daggers at each other from across the room, or cause her grand designs to fail over — over some petty personal _drama_, all because he’d had the nerve to seek his own happiness?

He shuddered at the thought.

But, regardless of whatever her eventual reaction might be, Hubert quickly became unable to ignore the issue for much longer. An unmarked envelope landed on his desk that afternoon, sealed with a wax stamp he recognized as one in Byleth’s possession. After canvassing the room to reassure himself he was alone, he opened it, and felt goosebumps up the back of his neck as he quickly scanned the page.

_Hubert,_

_Please meet me in my quarters after dinner. Come alone._

_Byleth_

Such a simple, formal letter, one unlikely to arouse suspicion in anyone who might have intercepted it. Hubert always appreciated her discretion, but immediately understood the underlying meaning to her invitation.

They rarely met alone unless it was to continue their dalliances — even in the war room when they sought to make plans together for upcoming missions, it invariably ended in hungry kisses and stolen touches. They had certainly never met in her quarters after hours.

Tonight, one way or another, he would have to find a way to explain it to her.

—

Hubert steadied his trembling hands, taking a deep breath. It was unlike him to be so nervous — usually, it was the other way around.

Three knocks at Byleth’s door, a quiet and curt knocking as to draw as little attention as possible. There would be few roaming the streets of Garreg Mach at this time of night, save for guards, but Hubert still took precautions; he knew well that even during a war, the people loved to gossip.

The door opened a crack, then all the way, allowing him entry. It was Byleth awaiting him inside, of course, though she did not speak until they were fully inside with the door locked behind them.

it was beginning to feel less like a tryst and more like a meeting in the dead of night to exchange information, which would have suited Hubert far better — and made him less anxious, at that.

Her room was as small and utilitarian as it had always been, with only a few things changed over the years. It wasn’t his first time being there by any measure; he’d been in to toss her belongings in search of secret missives, back during their schoolyard days where he’d had to worry about her true allegiances.

But that was then, and this was now. And they were meeting under far different circumstances.

“Hey,” Byleth greeted him finally, sitting on the bed and smoothing the sheets underneath her. She looked surprisingly sheepish, peeking up at him with a smile, and he wondered if he wasn’t the only one feeling nervous. “I thought we could use the time alone.”

“No prying monarchs to interrupt us?” Hubert smirked, crossing the room to sit beside her, his hand easily sliding onto her waist.

“Some privacy would be nice,” she agreed, drawing him into a soft, lingering kiss, resting her palm upon his shoulder.

Gentle kisses quickly melted into rough, feverish ones, ones that involved tongue and teeth and fingers bunched tightly in clothes. He relished in the feeling of her, of her wet lips and smooth skin, of body heat so searing that it felt like sitting in front of a fire.

But before long, he felt her hands undoing the buttons and belts of his coat, drawing it off of his arms, and his brain faintly registered that she meant to _undress_ him. A shiver ran up his spine, bringing him back to reality.

“Byleth,” he gasped between kisses, trying to draw away. “Wait.”

That word was all it took for her to instantly stop, pulling back with worried eyes. “You okay? Am I going too fast?”

Hubert couldn’t help but smile at her earnestness, eyes thinning, even as he felt his heartbeat jumping into his throat.

"I simply fear there is something I have not told you," he stated calmly, grateful for years of practice keeping the fear from leaking into his voice. "I... imagine you have… preconceived notions about the body of a man, and…"

He trailed off as Byleth regarded him with concern and confusion in equal measure, glancing down at his fully–clothed form as if it would somehow reveal what he was referring to.

"Is this about your scars?" She asked softly, and he had to chuckle inwardly. Were it so simple. "I have plenty of those, Hubert. You know that."

"And they are beautiful." He allowed himself to ghost his gloved fingertips over her shoulder, across her exposed bicep, and onto her forearm. His fingers came to rest over the faint imprint of a wide, jagged bite — a long–since scarred over wound from an ancient beast. It had always been his favorite. "But no. It is not about my scars."

Reaching out to grab his unoccupied hand, Byleth leaned forward, now looking even more worried. But his hand remained still, his body stiff. Though he felt gratified that the concern seemed to be for his well–being rather than her own, the words were still so difficult to say.

"I was born with… a different set of anatomy, contrary to what you might expect." Hubert drew in a deep breath, and released it with a shuddering exhale. This act of trust seared more than any other — any vulnerability felt uncomfortable and out of place, but this was asking so _much_ of him. No living soul, save Lady Edelgard, knew this secret. "I imagine it is the same as your own."

Were it anyone else, he wouldn’t have even considered opening up about this. He would have simply ended the relationship before it got this far. But she was so _kind_, so earnest, that he _wanted_ her to know.

At once, Byleth's eyebrows shot up in surprise. It was, at the least, heartening to not see an ounce of disgust in her expression.

"Magic gave me the means to alter my body to my liking. But magic…" His fingers dropped from where they'd been tracing the individual marks of teeth on her skin, resting limply on the bed. "Magic can only do so much."

She hesitated for a long moment, taking in this information. He did not know her to be a particularly judgmental person, but —

"Can I see?" Byleth asked softly, her voice so gentle and so innocent that he found it startlingly difficult to refuse her.

"If that is truly what you desire," he mumbled, shrugging off his coat all the way and slowly pulling free the buttons of his white dress shirt, then unlacing his boots.

Hubert wasn't sure why he would acquiesce to such a request. It was almost alarmingly easy to trust her — perhaps it was due to how straightforward she was as a person, the exact reason that he'd been drawn to her to begin with. He dealt with so many lies in his day–to–day life, so much deception, that her honesty was unbelievably refreshing.

And he supposed that some part of him — a weak and vulnerable part, a shameful and selfish part — wished for her acceptance. He wished to be told that his body was normal, desirable, and masculine.

She watched him the whole time, eyes lingering on his hands as they made quick work of his garments. Her oddly encouraging gaze reminded him of the training grounds, how she would observe his technique and then correct it, all with a kind, patient hand — and he flushed when that gaze dropped to the newly–exposed softness of his chest, the supple curve of him.

He'd been fortunate enough in that his chest had always been small enough to conceal easily behind clothes. But with his shirt off, the swell of small, pert breasts was undeniable.

Hubert startled slightly when her hands drew near, and they paused at the edges of his unbuttoned shirt, hesitating there. She looked up at him, seeking permission; of course her expression would be frustratingly unreadable, even at a time like this.

A tentative incline of his head granted her the consent she sought, and her hands slipped under the cotton, cupping him gently. It felt — not unwelcome, but distinctly _new_. He had never been so intimate with another, after all — physical affection was something he was rarely ever on the receiving end of, even in the realm of platonic.

Then she gave him a squeeze, her thumbs sliding against and circling his nipples, wrenching a shaky moan from his lips. He felt his cheeks reddening, heat pooling towards his groin.

Yes, he had certainly never been touched like _that_ before.

"Oh, Hubert," she said softly, reverently. "You're perfect."

He barked out a humorless laugh, even though the words made him feel as if he'd been run through. Such praise was a complete unknown to him. Had those words come from any other, he would have instantly dismissed them as lies.

And yet, here she was. Here they were. She was as candid as ever, and through some small mercy of the Goddess, actually seemed to _desire_ him.

“I feel as though you may be alone in your praises of me,” he replied quietly. “I have difficulty believing you would actually want… _this._”

“And why not?” Byleth challenged, something burning in her eyes that made him feel excited and nervous at the same time. Her hands went to his pants, making quick work of the buttons, and he already regretted the absence of those hands on his bare flesh.

“I don’t have a penis,” Hubert pointed out bluntly.

Her hand suddenly skirted down the front of his trousers and smallclothes both, pulling a startled gasp from his lungs as her fingers easily slid between his folds. It was a practiced movement, one that invited very, very interesting questions — how many times had she touched herself while still clothed? How many moments had she stolen between lessons, strategy meetings, missions?

Though he wasn’t particularly wet, a shock of arousal still ran through him when her fingers brushed against his sensitive bundle of nerves. The jerk of his hips did not escape her notice, and she bore down with her fingers upon locating her target, massaging him in firm circles.

“I beg to differ,” she cooed, voice skirting the line between teasing and lustful. “What do you think this is, Hubert?”

“B—Byleth,” he stuttered, finding himself moving against his will, pressing down into the touch that was making his veins feel like molten lead despite the discomfort of dry friction. It took him a moment to process what she’d said, and when he did, he laughed again, breathless.

Always so full of surprises. Each more pleasant than the last, it seemed.

“Does it feel good?” She asked softly, leaning in until her lips brushed the shell of his ear, her mint–colored hair tickling his cheek. “Is it too much?”

“It is — somewhat sensitive,” he admitted, feeling himself tremble when her fingers drew back to continue removing his pants. “Perhaps if I… if I was…”

“Wetter?”

Hubert’s cheeks grew darker at how _lewd_ that sounded, averting his gaze. “Yes.”

Byleth smirked up at him, pulling the garment down past his knees. “I think that can be arranged.”

He felt his breath catch.

Before long, she had him in nothing but his unbuttoned dress shirt, feeling uncomfortably exposed as he lay on the silken sheets. Here, nothing was left to the imagination; his angular hipbones and abdominal muscles led into dark curls of pubic hair, which worked to conceal his slightly flushed sex. If she was going to regret her decision, now would be the time.

But after a long moment of leaning back on her haunches to take in the sight of him, Byleth leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. It was unexpectedly tender — not unlike the sort of kisses they’d shared when they had hardly any time to spare, so very brief and yet still enough to leave him wanting.

Then her mouth dropped to the exposed nape of his neck, planting a trail of butterfly kisses all the way down to the curve of his chest. He squirmed with the unfamiliar sensitivity of it, the way she earnestly cupped and squeezed whichever breast she wasn’t paying attention to with her lips, going back and forth between them.

“You’re perfect,” she repeated as she mouthed his skin, worshipping it. “Hubert, you’re perfect.”

By the time she moved downward, her tongue skirting a trail across his abdomen, Hubert could feel himself getting slick, resisting the urge to cross his legs. There was something so maddeningly vulnerable about being so exposed, about _surrendering_ his body to another.

He wondered why he wasn’t panicking more. Perhaps he truly had grown to trust her far more than he’d realized. Perhaps the cloud of lust in his brain was suppressing all else.

He began to lean towards the latter assumption when the tip of her tongue spread his folds — all other thoughts scattered from his mind like startled deer at the electric sensation of the wet muscle glancing over his clit, teasing it. He shuddered forward as the flat of it pressed against him, slick ridges rubbing against abundant nerve endings.

“Oh — oh,” Hubert found himself babbling, rocking his hips, lifting them up off the bed. “Go—oddess— Byleth—”

He felt more than heard the chuckle she let out, the sound vibrating his sensitive skin. There were so many new sensations at once, and it was bordering on overwhelming. But she did not let up, laving her tongue over him in broad strokes.

The rare moments he’d had in the quiet respite of his quarters, diligent fingers working to relieve an irritating biological need as one might scratch an itch, could not possibly hold a candle to this. She maneuvered his body as skillfully as she might a sword, as practiced as she was efficient, and all he could do was squirm against her.

And then she drew back, leaving him lifting his hips more desperately with unanswered desire, before he realized how pathetically needy he was being and lowered them back down. Still, the sudden cold air against his stiflingly warm crotch was uncomfortable, to say the least, and he eyed her with mild irritation.

Hubert didn’t get a chance to interrogate her aloud — she answered the question in his mind with her actions, the pads of her fingertips pressing against his now slick entrance, tracing the outline of it but going no further.

“Is it okay if I go inside you?” Byleth asked, as innocently as if she were asking how many lumps of sugar he wanted in his coffee. “Or do you not want me to?”

He barely hesitated. Though he had rarely ever experimented with penetrating himself, he was not necessarily averse to it; he simply hadn’t seen the need. And there was something so alluringly perverse about the thought of her _fucking_ him with her hand.

“Please,” Hubert breathed, and shivered as one finger slipped in with embarrassing ease, followed by another. “Byleth…”

She smiled softly at him, emerald eyes thinning, before sliding back down into place, licking delicately at him. The combined sensations were nearly too much, and he felt himself involuntarily clench around her fingers, a sound far too close to a whimper for his liking escaping his throat. Had his insides always been this sensitive?

They couldn’t have been. She was doing this to him, surely. Some sort of dark magic, or something in the coffee that afternoon, or perhaps the progenitor god’s power somehow involved _this_, or, or, or —

Her fingers suddenly crooked inward toward his belly just as she bore down again with her tongue, applying pressure to his most sensitive areas on both the inside and outside — and just like that, he lost control. Every muscle in his abdomen seemed to seize and then release; his hips shuddered forward, clenching and spasming around the digits inside of him again and again and again, his mind painted a beautifully empty white.

As he slowly came down, he became vaguely aware of the intrusion slipping out of him, of being idly, tenderly stroked. Every limb suddenly felt heavier than it should, more difficult to operate.

Yes, his lover was certainly full of surprises.

“I prefer this, you know,” Byleth murmured as he returned to some semblance of awareness, massaging gentle circles into the flesh of his inner thighs. “I’m a lot more familiar with _this_ than the alternative. And we get to play multiple times.”

“_Multiple times?_” He questioned blearily, incredulously.

“Haven’t you done that before?” She let her cheek rest on his leg, smiling up at him with soft emerald eyes in a way that was unbearably charming. “You can’t do that with a normal penis. You’d have to wait. But this way, we can have as much fun as we want.”

He huffed out a breath of disbelieving laughter. _One_ orgasm at her hands was enough to make him feel like he could take one of Linhardt’s legendary 14–hour naps.

“You’re a strange one,” Hubert muttered, but he could feel himself accepting defeat, his shame over his inadequacies melting into an unfamiliar, fluttering warmth.

A few moments passed. Byleth stroked and kissed his thighs, staying away from the parts that were sensitive, letting him recover before they continued. The touch was — decidedly pleasant, and certainly something he could get used to.

But there was still one nagging thought. One bit of self–loathing that had kept its hold on him since the start of their relationship.

“I wish to please you,” Hubert said sheepishly, finally giving a clearer voice to his insecurities. “But I cannot — penetrate you, the way another man might.”

She suddenly fixed him with a strange look, raising her eyebrows, the corner of her lips quirking just a bit. Her fingers stopped in their tracks.

“Is that what you want to do, or what you think you _should_ do?” Byleth asked, her expression slipping into something more neutral, but her voice bordering on flirtatious.

“The idea,” he answered slowly, feeling himself grow embarrassed, “certainly has its appeal.”

She hummed thoughtfully, drawing away from him and abruptly sitting up. He merely watched her in innocent confusion, no longer fearing that she would flee the room in disgust — the pleasant, boneless post–orgasm ache that lingered in his groin was evidence enough of her unswayed interest.

“Close your eyes.”

Hubert lifted an eyebrow, but acquiesced, letting his eyelids flutter closed as the bed creaked with the loss of her weight. It became harder to keep them shut when he heard the opening of a chest and noisy rustling, as if several objects were being jostled against each other — but against all of his instincts, he endured.

He felt the bed sink and heard Byleth once more, near to his ear, gentle and reassuring. “Keep them closed.”

And he obeyed without question, even as her soft voice gave way to goosebumps on his neck.

Soon, he felt a pressure between his thighs — an intrusion she was surely guiding with her hand, larger than her fingers, round and smooth. He was so slick and loose that it entered him with hardly any trouble at all, and he gasped as the bulb nestled forward against his walls, coming to rest against that spot she’d so exquisitely tortured him with earlier.

Hubert squirmed against it, still residually sensitive. What on Earth was she doing?

"You can open them now," Byleth said finally, drawing away. Once again, he obeyed.

Now surely, _this_ was dark magic. He opened his eyes only to find a smooth, erect cock jutting out from his pubic mound, ready to be used; when he sat up in awe it moved _with_ him, bobbing against his stomach, the movement brushing against something sensitive in him.

There were just a couple of things amiss: for one, the color was off, a thickly lacquered brown so dark it was nearly black. And it was made of wood, of course, not flesh. But it was a convincing enough facsimile, and when he flexed his hips, he felt it rub both at his insides and the sensitive bundle of nerves at the top of his folds.

Seeing it stirred something inside of him. It felt — _right_. Like an option he should have had a long time ago.

"You don't _need_ to be able to penetrate me to please me," Byleth rumbled huskily, her eyes not on his face but on the protrusion between his legs, apparently finding it just as stimulating as he did. "But, if you _want_ to…”

“Where on Earth did you find this?” Hubert laughed breathlessly, grabbing it with his hand, stroking over the rounded protrusion at the head that made an approximation of a glans. There was another round bump further down, and another. The shape was designed more for pleasure than for anatomical accuracy.

It was disappointing that he could not perfectly feel the brush of fingers against it as if it were his own skin, but it was clearly designed to pleasure its user, as well — every minute movement rubbed against some part of him, and that would be enough.

“Enbarr’s markets have some very interesting offerings,” Byleth replied, eyes twinkling as she gripped it herself — the sight of her fist _around_ him was positively electric, a stab of arousal going straight to his groin.

“Clearly,” he managed, his voice trembling, eyes growing dark with lust. Suddenly, he cared not for where she had bought such an implement; he was far more interested in using it.

Hubert abruptly grabbed her shoulder, pulling her upward into a hungry, desperate kiss, hands going to her top to hastily undo its laces. Here she was, being so wonderfully accommodating of him, and he had not yet returned the favor.

What a grave offense. He needed to fix that _immediately_.

She moaned against his lips, and he was suddenly overwhelmed with how much he wanted her, kissing her fiercely, pushing her down onto the bed underneath him. He could feel the toy jutting out of him, feel how it pressed lewdly against her leg, and it only excited him more.

He only broke the kiss when Byleth managed to squirm out of her shorts, taking in the sight — she was wearing underwear made of delicate white lace, the interlocking flowers just barely concealing soft green curls. Surely another of Enbarr’s _offerings_, as those most certainly would not be among the war provisions.

With his own anatomical situation, he’d feared that he might find her body less arousing, just an ever–present reminder of his own. But whatever misgivings he’d had were quickly proven to be unfounded; even beyond the biological changes he’d coaxed out of his own body structure with the use of magic, the two of them were vastly different.

Where he was tall and angular, Byleth was soft and round, with wide hips that fit comfortably in his hands instead of sharp hipbones. Her breasts were full and plush, now spilling out of her undone top as she worked to remove the garment entirely, nipples so perfectly pink and pert on an otherwise pale expanse that they reminded him of icing roses on a cake.

Hubert wondered how they might taste.

So, too, was her sex different from his own, a fact he idly noted as he drew the undergarment down to reveal her entirety. Hubert had assumed that perhaps they would all look the same. But she was plush here, too, puffy and pink and wet and _delicate_ — and Hubert had never, in his life, been thought of or referred to as delicate.

The fact that she was so wet already was both gratifying and mildly embarrassing; she had watched him, stroked him, made him come, and apparently loved the whole thing. All of this was for _him_.

Hubert couldn’t help himself, leaning in to kiss and nose between those folds, relishing the moan he earned when his tongue lapped at her most sensitive spot. Her clit was different, too — his protruded more, had done so ever since he’d started using magic to change his body, while hers was more akin to a pearl hidden in a shell. He wished to explore her more, would gladly do so for hours, to intricately understand and relish every difference between them.

Byleth laughed at his enthusiasm, placing a hand in his hair to urge him to draw back. “I thought you wanted to fuck me?”

“My apologies,” he replied calmly, licking his lips and noting the faint saltiness, even as his cheeks flushed at the bluntness of her language. He raised himself up to straddle her, greedily taking in the sight — fully disrobed save for her stockings, a pattern of dark lace across her smooth legs, leading the eye up toward the junction of her thighs where she laid flushed and glistening.

He saw no need to remove the garment.

Another stab of arousal pierced him as he looked down at himself, once again catching sight of the cock hanging between his legs. He carefully lined it up, inexperienced yet eager, the head parting her slick folds, resting at her entrance.

“Are you ready?” He asked softly, admiring the way her pale hair spilled across the dark sheets underneath her.

There was no hesitation in her gaze, only confidence and desire; he wondered how many times she had laid with another before him. At least one of them knew what they were doing, a fact he found somewhat reassuring.

“Yes,” Byleth breathed out, smiling up at him, her cheeks a warm, delicate pink. Again and again, he found himself struck by her immeasurable beauty. “Fuck me, Hubert.”

A flush of red crawled right up to his ears. She, on the other hand, was having entirely too much fun with his inexperience.

“As you wish,” Hubert replied, more huskily than intended, and braced against the mattress as he began to ease forward.

He watched her gasp quietly as the head pushed in, then at every bump after that. He hardly met any resistance as it slid inside, nearly but not entirely taking the full length, leaving a small gap between their bodies as he bottomed out inside of her.

There was something strange and holy about it; the green hair strewn around her face, the flush on her cheeks, the way her pussy looked when spread and filled. He couldn’t feel her insides, but he could certainly feel it when she clenched on him — it caused the toy to dip, its back end pressing right up inside of him, the bulb so deliciously thick and so stuck in its place that he could do nothing but clench on it in turn, making his hips stutter.

“Byleth,” he moaned quietly, voice thick with desire. “How does it feel?”

“Big,” she praised, clenching on his cock again as if to prove her point. He hissed, grinding against the part that pressed flush to his outside, hungry for stimulation. “You’re so thick, Hubert. I can’t even — mm — take the whole thing.”

“Then I expect you,” Hubert growled, feeling a sudden swell of confidence, pulling himself out and then thrusting back in at an upward angle, “to take all that you can.”

The only reply he received was an excited gasp, Byleth arching her back into the mattress as he drove into her.

More confidence bloomed within him when he managed to hit her most sensitive area after a few thrusts, seeing it in the way she groaned and pulled at the sheets. He set a punishing pace, grabbing her legs at the backs of her knees and holding them up, spreading her wide as he sought to reach it again and again.

Byleth moaned his name, lifting her arms to drape them around his shoulders, pulling him in for a kiss as he slid eagerly against her insides. He met it breathlessly, needily, broken by small gasps and sounds of want, feeling the heat in his core grow every time he felt himself twitch and clench around the shape inside of him.

“Close,” she soon whimpered against his lips.

“Already, Professor? So — mm — eager,” Hubert hissed, puffing out hot breaths. He met her gaze, holding it, enjoying the sight of her pupils blown wide with arousal. “Or did you — hah — enjoy pleasing me earlier that much?”

“Hubert,” she whined, and he could feel her nails scratching at him through his dress shirt, struggling to find something to grab onto. “Don’t tease me. Please. I need—”

He suddenly let go of one of her legs, moving his hand to the point where their bodies met — hot and slick, with profane wet noises every time he slid in or out — and letting it rest above the curls there. For a moment, he watched her flushed pink folds spread and contract around him, eagerly drawing him in with every thrust, and observed the neglected, sensitive little pearl at the very top.

Then he mercilessly pressed down on it with the pads of his fingertips, stroking over it hard and fast, until she finally stiffened, bucked, and let out a loud, shuddering moan in the shape of his name.

Hubert tried his best to fuck her through it, but she clenched on him _hard_, and it made that toy bump and press against his insides _just_ right. He let out a pathetic sound and rocked his hips desperately, felt himself squeeze and spasm around the thick bulb nestled so torturously and immovably against his weak point, then shuddered forward with a cry as he felt himself crest the height of his pleasure.

_She was right,_ some part of his brain noted distantly, even as the rest floated in numb, pulsating ecstasy. He truly was capable of having several in a row.

When he finally came down, panting hard and oversensitive, Byleth lay spread out below him, glowing and equally spent. He slowly slid the toy out of her, watching the way her pussy spread open around every round swelling in the length of it, hearing her whimper at the sensation.

Then he carefully removed the opposite end of it from his own body, flushing as he felt himself _dripping_. He was wetter than he could ever remember being, an uncomfortable stickiness that he would have to take care of — at least, once he was more confident he’d be able to walk to the lavatory without his knees giving out.

Hubert laid himself beside her, tiredly embracing her in his arms. He felt an unusual warmth blooming in him, not in his groin but in his chest, a profound _affection_ that clouded his judgment and made him feel disgustingly sentimental. Perhaps the most unsettling thing about it was that he didn’t _mind_.

She moved against him in turn, rolling over to contentedly nuzzle into the space above his collarbone. The warmth inside of him only swelled, made him feel pleasantly weightless.

For once in his life, Hubert was not thinking of Her Majesty or the Empire. His thoughts were scattered, but the few that he could gather together orbited around his lover — the tickle of her hair on his skin, the slow rhythm of her breathing, the soft fullness of her breasts pressed against him.

As with all things, that would come to an end. Soon, he would come to his senses. But for now, it was as if they were the only thing that existed in the universe.

“Was that to your satisfaction?” Hubert asked quietly, after a moment had passed.

Byleth chuckled breathlessly, tipping her head up to look at him. “You could say that.”

“What a cleverly designed device you got from Enbarr.”

“Yes it is,” she hummed contently. “You seem to be a natural with it.”

Hubert inclined his head, basking in the glow of her praise. He let his fingers idly stroke at the small of her back, relishing in the sensation of bare skin against his own.

“And maybe,” Byleth continued, “next time, _I_ could use it on _you_, instead.”

The implications of what she was proposing took a moment to fully settle in, and he felt his cheeks grow dark with color again. An image came to mind unbidden — Byleth on top of him, wearing a cocky smile, spreading him open.

“Yes,” he finally agreed, a lazy smirk playing on his lips. “A most tantalizing prospect.”


End file.
